


friends

by bloodrunsred



Series: just a little bit broken [11]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, BAMF Morty Smith, Beating, Jealous Rick, M/M, POV Rick, Possessive Rick, Psychological Torture, Rick Being an Asshole, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-27 13:47:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19014145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodrunsred/pseuds/bloodrunsred
Summary: Morty had found a friend.Rick didn’t like her much.





	friends

**Author's Note:**

> i posted this and then deleted it because i was so worried about it not fitting with the flow of the series. i’ve decided that posting it is the only way this series will ever evolve, and i hope you guys feel the same way!

Friends have never been anything Morty has had in abundance.

People were fickle; they abandoned each other, formed small groups, excluded anyone who didn't fit their idea of perfection. Morty got it. He wasn't smart enough, or attractive enough, and being seen with him was social suicide.

That was just how life _worked._

Rick was his friend, though—they were partners in crime, Rick and Morty, the duo, the team, no one without the other. It probably seemed a little pathetic to the other kids at his school, that his grandpa was the only one who gave him the time of day. It wasn't like Rick kept it a secret, after all. No, Rick loved bursting into lunch and classes, and bemoaning Morty's attempts at flirting, pulling him away from people, or hurting people that came near him.

It was safer to stay clear of Morty Smith.

But not everyone knew that—Morty had somehow endeared himself to the new girl, Trisha Mernai, who wasn't subtle in her advances. Morty had to admit she was pretty, even with her slight over-bite and unruly hair, and she seemed interested. In him! For the first time in what seemed like forever, he had a new phone number, and one that didn't belong to a member of his family. It was unprecedented, and his mood didn't waver in the slightest when Rick predictably appeared to steal him away before lunch. 

It should have made him feel worse, and maybe it was a sign that there was something really, really wrong with him, that he didn't bat an eye at Rick's leer. He was just used to it; and maybe the numbness would fade, maybe he would go back to stressing and crying, or whatever else later on.

What mattered now was that someone  _liked_ him. 

Someone genuinely enjoyed his company—and even Rick couldn’t claim that much. He complained all the time about how he had to do everything for Morty, or how useless Morty was.

Trisha thought he was cute, and nice, and he sent a _hey :)_  before they were even through the portal. She responded in kind, and his phone kept pinging. He stood there, still as Rick looked at him—maybe on purpose, just to make sure Rick knew that Morty had better stuff to do. He didn’t rely on Rick for friendship, attention, ~~love~~ , anything, and the tiny, vindictive devil on his shoulder demanded Rick acknowledge that.

"Pretty—pretty popular. Aren't we, Morty?" Rick gazed somewhere past Morty, his eyes glazed in an unmistakable dead-fish stare. Morty wouldn't have even bothered looking at him, if not for his tone that seemed to hang in the stale air of the garage. His flask was, interestingly enough, not in hand, though Rick was obviously plenty drunk already.

"Ha," Morty forced a smile, the hand holding his phone twitching with the urge to tuck it into his pocket (and sleep with it under his pillow, later that night). "I mean—no, it's just someone from school, Rick. No—no big deal." There was a twitch to the firm line of Rick's mouth, that said it _absolutely_ was a big deal. 

"I had some plans Morty," Rick said, and another  _ping_ rang out through the room. It fit right in with the beeps and whirrs of Rick's inventions. "I had some—some really big plans."

Morty was almost afraid of asking what those plans were—he was afraid of asking why they had changed even more so. Once Rick was set in his ways, little could dissuade him of said ways. Anything that could get the elusive, self-serving Rick Sanchez to give up something he had already decided, and put effort into plotting out, was something Morty didn't want any part of.

But, if Morty had to judge based on the possessive glint in Rick's eyes as he looked down on him, he already knew what was setting the man off. Fuck, he really was a fucking idiot.

"I need your phone, Morty!" Rick burst into a flurried frenzy, one hand pulling at the collar of Morty's shirt, the other reaching for this phone. "I need—I need to do science on it, Morty! Important science!"

Morty shoved him off, pressing down on the volume button until the pings became distant buzzes. "You're drunk, Rick. Go—go sleep it off, or something." If Morty's intelligence needed more reason to shrivel down, that sentence was it; Rick grinned, a mouth full of yellowed, aged teeth, that looked too sharp to belong to a human. He swayed, unfocused, and leaned heavily on Morty.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, w-we—we should go sleep, Morty, you should come sleep with me, M-morty."

Morty almost swayed himself at that, his knees barely holding him up as Rick swallowed heavily by his ear. Morty could imagine his teeth digging into his ear too easily in an alcohol-induced rage; he never was the most disciplined of creatures, and  _no_ wasn't a word that Rick heard often.

Or, at least it wasn't one he listened to often. Morty had witnessed firsthand where begging left those who went against Rick's plans, and he still did anyway—he had some small amount of faith in Rick, just enough that he didn't think the man would put a bullet in him. Rick wasn't a man to trust, but it was impossible to see him as a threat when he acted like an overly clingy cat.

Maybe a lion would fit his description better—what with his wild mane.

"C'mon Rick," Morty scoffed, comfortable to push Rick away. Rick went willingly, pouting in his general direction. "Don't be a dumbass, or I'll put you to bed myself."

He wanted to sound like a badass, not like he was Rick's mother. Did Rick even have a mother? He seemed like the type to have been spawned in hell, or at leat a high-tech, sci-fi whatchamacallit. He felt normal; his grandpa needed a midday nap, he had a friend blowing him up (and not in a violent way), and he had half a stack on uncompleted homework making up half of his school-bag's contents.

"You—you're a little pussy, Morty, a—a little pussy." Rick slurred, and Morty rolled his eyes. He pulled his phone up so he could read the screen—and, gosh, if that was how Summer felt all the time, no wonder she was addicted to hers—typing out a quick reply before turning back to Rick, who was staring drunkenly at the floor, back hunched. He looked skinnier and older than Morty had seen him in a long while, and there was a hot flash of begrudging sympathy mixed with amusement.

No matter how much he hated what Rick had done to him in the past, Morty was still his grandson. He was practically obligated to care about the old bastard's wellbeing. Even if it was funny as fuck to see the great Rick Sanchez reduced to this spirit with only a few bottles of Jack. "Let's get you to bed, old timer." Morty said, not even caring about what Rick would do to him for that comment when he came back to.

"But," Rick said, staring at Morty's phone (now safely tucked into the waistband of his jeans) where it was hidden by his shirt. "I need to science your phone."

"Okay, Rick," Morty rolled his eyes for what felt like the millionth time that night. "Maybe next time, yeah?"

God, he was such a fucking rebel today, and it _rocked._ Nothing could bring him down from this, he swore.

 

* * *

 

Rick was very, very drunk. Verrryyy drunk.

Drunk enough that Morty thought it was okay to put him to bed like he was a misbehaving toddler. He was stumbling around like an idiot, sure, and if he were in a better state physically, he would wrestle Morty's phone from his hands. Unfortunately, if he tried anything in his state, there was a ninety-percent chance that he would pass out if someone blew on him. He was kind of a wreck, and he couldn't deny the appeal of a nap, but he had something to do first.

No matter how any times he had thrown up, he was still quick as a whip. It took him five minutes to get a good hold on his computer, and even longer to type in his password (because he hadn't gotten around to making it voice-activated yet), but it still happened.

It took him two minutes after that to hack into Morty's phone; it shouldn't have been hard at all, because his phone was absolutely ancient compared to the advanced tech Rick had hacked before, but he was fighting the urge to swan-dive off his bed.

"Focus, y-you bastard," Rick slapped his cheeks, his fingers twitching sporadically as more alcohol than blood coursed through his veins. Morty was stupid—his password was easy enough to bypass, and he only had a few contacts to sort through. Some girl he had had a project with before, Jessica's old number, Beth, Jerry, and a recent contact titled  _Trisha Mernai,_ a little heart next to it that told Rick she had put it in herself.

He didn't think Morty even knew what emojis were; he was barely on his phone enough to figure out how his settings worked.

He scrolled through their messages, making a face that was forty-nine-percent real gagging, and fifty-one-percent fake gagging, even though there was no-one there to appreciate it. 

Now, for some good, old-fashioned detective work...

He googled her.

She liked posting slutty photos on her Instagram, while her Facebook was dedicated to posting photos of her with her (now dead) grandma. She was a busty blonde, though it was obvious she hadn't touched a brush in around three years, and looked like the type to refuse to wear a retainer because her friends would abandon her.

Pa-the-tic. Morty could do so much better, and he was  _Morty._

He fumbled around his bedside table, looking for that one syringe that would flush the alcohol from his body quicker than normal. He needed steady hands for this plan; Trisha would appreciate that, at least—he would hate for unsteady hands to slice too deep, and cut their time together short. That had happened too many times before, and he was planning for something just a little long-lasting. 

As soon as he was ready to go (meaning, as soon as he was done barfing his guts up), he portalled into her bedroom, after finding out where her phone was. Hacking phones wasn't worth his effort, but her scream made the sting to his ego partially better. And, Jesus, he had been around Summer—who was tough as nails—so long, he had forgotten what it was like to hear a teenage girl scream so loud. 

It had to be impossible to yell so loud; his eardrums almost split, the little bitch.

He threw her through the portal especially hard for that. He had made sure it was sound-proofed, locking the doors and barricading them, just in case someone got nosy. She didn't even try getting up; she lay on the floor, her chest heaving as she stared up at him. Terrified. He grinned, a sharp, vicious grin, that had her drawing back. "Who are you?" She was already crying, her nose red as though she was struggling not to burst into sobs.

He had a quick sip from his flask. He was going to need it. "I'm—I'm Rick," he told her. "I'm Morty's—I'm his grandpa."

Her face went paler, like she had seen the Devil. "The kids at school..." She breathed. "I thought they were making fun of me—they were just joking! This is just a prank, right?" She looked so miserable, her eyes already swelling up, that Rick couldn't resist making fun of her a little. He laughed.

"Yeah," he offered her a hand that she, the stupid bitch, didn't hesitate taking. "Massive practical joke, you got me." As soon as her features smoothed out, light, desperate relief beating out mind-numbing terror, he punched her in the face. His knuckles connected with her cheek, using enough force that she was knocked off her feet again, skidding across the floor.

She held her cheek, her eyes blank with animalistic fear. He was almost reminded of a little deer that had been cornered by a mountain lion; the way she went still, like it would stop him from seeing her, her little mind unable to comprehend why he was doing this to her, when it was really simple. He stamped down on her hand, hard, and she choked out a scream that was muffled by the blood in her throat.

She must have bitten the inside of her cheek when he punched her. 

"Please," she whined, looking up at him, and shielding her face with her arms as he kicked her. Her broken hand dangled limply, and he kicked her again. "Please, I haven't done anything!"

Rick just shrugged. Agree to disagree, and all that rot, but he had business with her. He picked up the knife he had set out on his workbench specifically for this, and held it up so she could see it; the serrated edge gleamed wickedly under the lights of the garage, and she screamed, high-pitched, for someone to help her. Just because she annoyed him, he swung his arm down harder than he had planned to.

"Help!" She sobbed, snot and tears dribbling down her face, mixing with the blood to paint Rick a pretty picture. "Please! Anyone!"

Rick shook his head, letting out a sigh of faux-disappointment.

"It's no biggie, really," he said, swapping out the knife for a plank of splintering wood he had been going to use to fix the hole in the wall. "I just don't—I don't like people touching what's mine, you dig?"

He brought the wood down.

 

* * *

 

Morty didn't see Rick until later that afternoon. He had left the man in bed but, after checking on him after not hearing any drunken swearing, he obviously wasn't there anymore. It was kind of annoying, to be honest; the man took him from school, got so drunk he had to go to bed, and then just disappeared? Morty had checked the garage, but it had been locked.

He must have really pissed Rick off if he wan't allowed in the garage, and the thought fuelled a fire of coiling nausea of how Rick would take it out on him later. Trisha stopped messaging him back, and the untouchable feeling of before faded away like dust in the wind. 

"H-hey, Morty," Rick said from somewhere behind him, and Morty hesitated a second before looking back. He regretted it immediately, his voice catching in his throat as he let out a startled, fearful yelp. Rick was covered in blood; it dripped from his hair to the floor, his coat soaked with the liquid, and his eyes were wide and wild. "Has your—has your little friend messaged you back, Morty?"

"No," Morty shook his head, his hand rising to his mouth. He was going to—he was going to throw up. "No, no, no—Rick, what did you do? Who did you kill?"

Rick laughed, a cruel, mean laugh that tapered off into a genuine giggle. He stalked forward, his hands finding purchase on the couch; they were bruised and bleeding, like someone had clawed at him. His face twisted into a mockery of a Cheshire grin, and he held onto Morty's shirt to keep him from falling off the couch. Blood smeared on his skin and spread through the thin fabric of his shirt, and he tried to heave as the heavy, metallic smell of blood invaded his nostrils.

"Just you n' me, Morty," Rick said. "It's just—it's just you n' me."

”Who did you kill, Rick?” Morty cried, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I don’t know what I did wrong, I don’t know why you hate me, I just—why did you kill her?”

A blood-soaked hand combed through his curls, the other still keeping a firm grip on his shirt. Rick didn’t say anything, and just let Morty cry.

”Shhh...” Rick shushed him, tacky blood getting all over his teenage grandson.

Morty struggled and, for all his efforts, Rick's fists tightened, and he didn't let him go.

**Author's Note:**

> check out my [tumblr](https://xbloodrunsredx.tumblr.com/)
> 
> make sure you review <33


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